Little Things that Brighten Up My Day
by Aubrieanna NeonBlack
Summary: James writes a poem in detention, and poor Professor McGonagall has to read it.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own my own computer, let alone Harry Potter.

Author's Note: This is a sister story to _I Am Afraid of Dr. Seuss_. I got a few requests and figured, what the heck, I don't have anything better to do. This will plot-less and won't beat the original, but if you'll read it I'll write it.

James Potter looked down at his assignment sheet. Ever since the 'Flying Bedpan' fiasco, McGonagal had given up on giving him practical detentions.

I would think she'd be happy, I was using them to practice for Quidditich, after all.

Despite all of James's protests, he had landed himself with a so-called "Self-reflective" detention. Now, he had to write an essay entitled "The Little Things That Make My Day".

Quidditich was what had got him into this mess, and McGonagal had expressly forbidden him to write about it. Writing about pranks would be like turning in a signed confession for all the misdeeds he and his friends had _not_ been punished for. He briefly considered writing about making remarks to teachers that stopped them in the middle of a lecture and caused them to look at him like he was another life form but decided not to.

After all, I wouldn't want to brag until I did something really note-worthy, getting Binns to crack for example.

He glanced up at the clock. McGonagal said that he would be there until his essay was done. Running his left hand through his hair for what seemed to be the thousandth time that night, he finally stumbled upon an idea.

Forty minutes later, he looked down at his finished paper. It was a poem, a brilliant one if he did say so himself. He re-read it once to make sure it was exactly right and then laid it on McGonagal's desk

Violets are blue,

Roses are red,

just like the tuft,

on dear Lily's head.

Carrots are orange,

Pickles are green,

like dear Lily's eyes,

or a shiny green bean.

China is dainty,

Doilies are too,

like dear Lily's feet

that live in her shoe.

Shoestrings make loops,

as does a plane,

and Lily's writing

when she signs her name.

A frogs freckled face

cannot compare

with dear Lily's head

and the dots that live there.

Dear Lily's hand

that she slaps me with

reminds me of braches

when the trees shift.

Her teeth are like pearls,

gems of the sea,

or rows of gold corn,

when she laughs at me.

And so my dear Lily,

In all of these ways,

you light up by life

and brighten my days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: It's been a while since I wrote this piece, and lots of you wanted to know how McGonagall would react, sorry it's so short. Maybe I'll do some more of these if I get some ideas from you brilliant reviewers, hint hint.**

Professor McGonagall was reading through yet another batch of first year essays on basic Transfiguration theory. _Is it just me, _she thought, taking a sip of tea that was beginning to go cold, _or are the new students getting denser every year? _The professor silently scolded herself for her lack of charity and preformed a charm to reheat her tea. She had to finish grading these papers tonight; there was an Order meeting tomorrow, and she would have no time before or after. Still, after a full day of teaching, all she wanted was to curl up and fall asleep. _Why on earth did I assign such a long essay? _She berated herself.

McGonagall sighed and massaged her forehead. As she reached across her desk to pick up her quill again, the long sleeve of her green-plaid robe knocked over her cup of tea. The warm liquid quickly spread all over the desk, smearing the sloppy scribbles of her stupid, lazy - no, just a little slow - students. McGonagall quickly tried to save as many papers as she could, throwing them off her desk haphazardly. Finally, she had saved all of the essays except for one. Carefully picking up the soggy piece of parchment, McGonagall managed to discern the name of the writer: James Potter.

Pursing her lips, McGonagall remembered the assignment she had given young Mr. Potter as punishment for practically destroying the hospital wing. While she silently applauded the boy's ingenuity, bewitching the bedpans to fly independently and run Quidditch plays, he could _not_ manage to keep from creating a path of destruction three miles wide wherever he went. For a moment, McGonagall considered throwing the essay directly in the trash. She was getting a headache just thinking about what that boy would have written. Probably something about pranks or tormenting his other professors…

Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of McGonagall, and she soon found herself absorbed in a… love letter? James Potter wrote a _love _poem to Lily Evans for his _detention _essay. And he compared her to a green bean and a freckled frog! McGonagall found herself torn between laughing hysterically and shedding a tear while squealing a long, drawn-out aww… As neither of these options were particularly seemly for a head-of-house, she satisfied herself by drying off the paper with a wave of her wand. The professor carefully, almost lovingly, folded up the piece of parchment and stuck it in her desk.

_Who knows, maybe I can use in a wedding speech someday. At the very least, thes is blackmail material… Or maybe I could finally convince Dumbledore to let me have both the Head Boy and Head Girl from Gryffindor! Although I don't know if this school could take James Potter as a head boy; give him any power and his path of destruction might become _fifty _miles wide…_


End file.
